Thick for a Genius
by jazmin.pickering
Summary: After John is pushed down a flight of stairs he struggles with his thoughts in his last moments.
1. Chapter 1

"John" Sherlock said "Give me your phone."

He hadn't looked away from the violin which he had been plucking while deep in thought.

"Where's yours?" John asked impatiently from the armchair.

John had spent a lot of time in that armchair since his accident at work. A patient had lost it and pushed him down a flight of stairs. It should have been more prominent in his mind but the only thing that truly bothered him was the limp that resulted from a shattered knee cap. It reminded him too much of his past.

"Sherlock you can't be serious. My leg-"

"You can walk can't you?"

Sherlock spent the three days of John's time back at the flat doing things for himself. It was as close to caring for John as he'd seen.

"That's bloody ridiculous... Where is it?"

John didn't need an argument right now. He had barely been able to focus on the book in his lap, so he knew an argument was too much.

"On the kitchen table."

"That's... oh nevermind"

John pushed himself out of the armchair with considerable effort and grabbed his cane. His attempts to walk straight were pointless, and he allowed himself to falter slightly as he reached Sherlock stretched out on the couch.

"Here." He said bitterly - dropping the phone onto his chest.

"Ouch. A bit nicer next time."

"I'm going to bed."

John had said this a little too harshly, but it was too late now. He pushed his way up the stairs and sat himself down on the bed.

He had been nippy like this towards Sherlock for a while but he couldn't admit to himself why. Deep in the back of his mind the thought haunted him but there was nothing to be done now. It was two in the morning.

"What is wrong with me..."

John knew exactly what his problem was. In those few moments falling down the stairs - those moments that slowed and felt like hours - everything had left his mind except one thing. Sherlock. His Brilliant green eyes and mess of hair. His deep voice and tall stature. In what he thought was his last moments, John could only think of Sherlock.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock had no time for trivial things like feelings. John's reaction was lost to him. He was fantastic at deductive reasoning but horrible at interpreting human emotions. They were so unnecessary. And yet he had felt stronger feelings towards John then he had ever felt. He wasn't sure what kind of feelings they were but he knew they were there.

_Why does he do this? _Sherlock thought _Was I not caring enough when he came back? I made my own tea. _

Sherlock put down his violin and picked up his gun. It needed cleaning and he was tired of playing Bach. _So bored._

Sherlock decided to talk to John. Since he'd come back from the dead and John was pushed down the stairs Sherlock thought it was time for a little sensitivity. Though that hadn't been his strong suit... No matter. He was determined to try. For his friend.

...

Sherlock walked into Johns room but didn't say anything at first.

John turned to look at Sherlock.

"Can I help you?"

Sherlock said nothing but began deciphering every inch of John. The bags under his eyes and his unkempt hair showed that he hadn't slept well or bothered to fix his appearance for at least two days. His bed was unmade and his shoes and socks had been thrown towards the closet rather then put away neatly. His mind was on something else. Then there was the collar of his shirt.

"Stop doing that."

"Wha-"

"I know what you're doing Sherlock. You're trying to figure out whats wrong with me. Just stop. I'm too tired for this."

John pulled his shirt off and threw it in the general direction of the hamper. It landed heavily next to his socks. His head dropped into his hands and he ran his fingers through his messy blonde hair. He hadn't gotten it cut in some time and it had grown almost to his ears.

"What do you want Sherlock?" He said with a hint of exasperation in his voice.

"Are... Are you alright?"

This caught John off guard. He said nothing and watched Sherlock staring at him waiting for an answer.

While looking at John, Sherlock suddenly realized he had taken his shirt off. His shoulders were broad and strong despite his short stature. His skin looked paler than normal and his shoulders were hunched, his head still in his hands.

"Do you really want to know or are you just trying to be nice?"

"Both."

John looked up at Sherlock and stood. Slowly he limped over until he was only a few feet away. Then his leg gave out.

"John!" Sherlock caught him before he hit the ground.

Sherlock let his knees hit the floor and stayed for a moment cradling John before standing again. He picked up his fragile friend and helped him onto the bed. His skin was warm and his hands were shaking. Like after his tour.

_This leg is really messing up his mind. _Thought Sherlock.

"Do you want to know what's wrong? Because I can tell you but I can't guarantee you'll like it."

"Tell me."

There was a moment of silence between them as John worked out how to explain to his best friend that in what he thought were his last moments of life... he thought of Sherlock. It made no sense really. I mean he was just his friend. Why didn't his life flash before his eyes? Why didn't he see his parents or sister Harry? Why didn't he flash back to the war? There were so many things that he could have thought of... and yet... maybe it did make sense that he thought of Sherlock. His best friend, his confidant, the man who was there when he was lonely. It made complete sense that he would think of Sherlock. What didn't make sense was _how_ he though of him.

"Do you remember the day I was... well... you know what I mean."

"Yes of course how could I not?"

"Well Sherlock... I... what I mean to say is... Well regular people do this... thing... when they think they are going to die. Your life flashed before your eyes."

"Yes I may not be perfect at understanding _why _humans think the way they do but I do know a bit about _how_."

"Alright well..." more silence

_Why doesn't he just tell me? _Sherlock thought. He stared intensely at John trying to figure it out to no avail.

"John?"

"Listen Sherlock... you know you're my best friend right?"

"Well yes you told me that. And honestly at first I never suspected given our difference in intellect that-"

"Shut up Sherlock."

Sherlock was caught off guard. Usually John just let him talk with a look of annoyance on his face. Sherlock knew John was annoyed by him sometimes but he often couldn't help it. Had he become too much to deal with for John? He hoped not. He didn't think he could bare it if John left him. Like Sherlock had...

"Sherlock."

"Huh? Oh yes sorry John."

"Listen. What I'm trying to say is... when I was falling down the stairs... Well instead of my life flashing before my eyes. Or my loved ones. I saw... well... you."

"Me?"

"Yes. Your face actually."

Sherlock didn't know what to do with this information. He was struggling to understand what John had meant by this confession. Sherlock was sure he would have seen John's face at some point in his death as well.

"Okay so what is the problem?"

"Well... Sherlock... why didn't I see my sister or Mary or..."

"Because like you said... I'm your best friend."

"Well yes... I mean... I don't..."

"It's okay John I would have seen your face at some point too."

"No Sherlock... I didn't just see your face... I _saw _your face."

"What?"

John felt his stomach getting heavy and he felt dizzy. Why was this so difficult to say? He looked up at Sherlock's eyes and saw them transforming into swirling green pools. Engulfing every inch of his body until everything went dark.


End file.
